FeydRautha
by Scooby-Doo Bandaid
Summary: Takes place on earth with no sci-fi stuff, everything Feyd says is part of Suzanne Vega's song "Luka"


"My name is Feyd-Rautha. I live on the second floor. I live upstairs from you."

"My name's Paul, have I seen you before?"

"Yes, I think you've seen me before."

"I heard something crash in the apartment above me last night… I was wondering what happened? There was a scream and I got worried and-- Hey? Where are you running?" Paul ran to catch up with him, "I'm sorry if I said something, I didn't mean it. Please, can I make it up to you?"

"If you hear something late at night…"

"Like what?"

"Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight."

"Okay."

"Just don't ask me what it was." Feyd said. If Paul could follow that, maybe he'd actually have a person he was willingly speaking to on a regular basis.

"Deal." Paul nodded, holding out his hand. Feyd took it, somewhat nervous. _Just don't ask me what it was… Just don't ask me what it was. _Paul's grip was strong and comforting. "So I guess I'll see you around?" Paul asked when their hands fell back to their respective sides. Feyd nodded briefly, watching Paul and he waved goodbye and went into his apartment. He felt a heavy hand clutch possessively to his shoulder. He allowed himself to be roughly led back to his apartment with Vladimir.

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_Please…_ Feyd thought, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the cold metal bracelets that kept his arms pinned to the bedpost. Vlad smirked,

"Tell me why you deserve this. Tell me why you deserve your punishment." He asked in sadistic pleasure.

"I think it's because I'm clumsy… I try not to talk too loud." Crack! Wrong answer. The leather burned his skin. "I think it's because… I'm crazy. I try not to act too proud." Crack!

"Don't justify your insanity. You're as stupid as a rodent but as meek as the kitten chasing it." Crack! Tears stung his eyes, but he wouldn't give out just yet. He couldn't. It was his only chance to fight. It was the only way he could. It was only a few more blows that he could handle, before he burst into tears and pleas. And that was it. "They only hit until you cry… After that you don't ask why… You just don't argue anymore…" Feyd swallowed bitter misery that was clogging and scratching at his throat, "You just don't argue anymore…" Tears welled up in his eyes for the second time that night, "You just don't argue anymore."

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"Feyd!" Feyd closed his eyes wearily, not wanting to face Paul with his bruised face and neck. He knew Paul would see, it was inevitable. And then Vladimir would punish him for being stupid. Because that's what he was, stupid. He heard the all too familiar gasp and the worried, slightly frightened, "Are you okay?"

"Yes I think I'm okay. I walked into the door again." Feyd said, but Paul narrowed his eyes.

"Feyd…" He said in a shaky voice, "Don't lie."

"Well, if you ask that's what I'll say!" Feyd snapped back angrily, "It's not your business anyway!" He raged. He got real quiet after that, though.

"I can help… I can call someone, we can do something…" Paul said desperately.

"I guess I'd like to be alone… With nothing broken, nothing thrown." He paused for a moment, "Just don't ask me how I am." His only requirement before going completely hysterical in Paul's arms. "Just don't ask me how I am… Just don't ask me how I am…" He repeated.

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"His name was Feyd-Rautha." Paul spoke to the small crowd. "He lived on the second floor, upstairs from me. I'd seen him once or twice before. I heard something late at night, some kind of trouble, some kind of fight. He said, just don't ask me what it was. Just don't ask me what it was. Just don't ask me what it was. He said, they only hit until you cry, after that you don't ask why. You just don't argue anymore, you just don't argue anymore, you just don't argue anymore…" Paul had been planning to say something inspiring at the funeral, something about how people couldn't let this happen to other people. Advertise some kind of help program. But he couldn't manage another word after repeating Feyd's. The syllables caught in his throat and clung, not letting go. He coughed a little, before sitting down. He thought of how pathetic they all really were.


End file.
